


One Night

by breadcat



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: F/M, Reader Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:27:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breadcat/pseuds/breadcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sinbad x female reader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night

**Author's Note:**

> It's incomplete but I'm done with it unless you guys want more. Reposted from tumblr. It's just been sitting in my drafts gathering dust so I gave up.

You can still hear the ocean just over the sound of your own heart beat in your ears and the distant music filtering in from down below. The breeze sweeps through the room, rustling anything light enough to be bothered, just as you find yourself on the bed.

The silk is soft and cool under your hands, and you can’t help be slide your palms along the material for a moment just to take it all in. Another small breeze brings with it the smell of salt and grilled seafood and smoke tinted just faintly by the smell of wine and sandalwood that clung to him and his robes as he settled down next to you. 

Just a few moments of peace passed between you, both relaxing on the soft silk and listening to the ocean and the music and the festival still going on down below. At least until he seemed to suddenly remember why he brought you all the way up here away from everyone else; half leading half following you through the empty halls and doors.

He had barely touched you before, actually. Beyond a few teasing trails of fingers down your bare arm or through the gaps in the sides of your festival outfit or the feather light touch of his lips on your ear when he invited you up to his chambers. A chance you never thought you’d get, and yet there it was falling right into your lap and there was no way you could have turned down the King, of all people.

But now he’s a lot more sure, less teasing and clearly working with a goal in mind. He skims your belly, ducking between the valley of your beasts to your exposed collar bones and neck, laying along your pulse to your ear and then jaw. You can barely see in the dim room but that just makes the light touches all the more intense. You can feel him shift closer as his thumb passes over your bottom lip, sure that he’s going to kiss you but instead he leans to whisper to you again.

You can’t remember what he said but it surely lit a fire in your belly, a low coil of want that you don’t remember ever getting from mere words before. But before you can fully recover from the shock of being aroused by a comment, he kisses you. He tastes of wine and the ocean. This close you can smell the sea salt in his hair and the clean scent of soap and oil used to polish jewelry. And then under everything else, there’s that subtle musk, the one that reaches into your core and tells you on a much more intimate level that this male, this man, wants you.

You know he isn’t drunk. Everyone in the kingdom knew what Sinbad looked like when he was drunk; cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, sometimes he would slur his sentences but mostly he just got louder. He had his fair share of wine this evening but he was far from being intoxicated. Still the sweet flavor clung to his lips and tongue and you tasted it strongly enough that it was almost as if you were sipping again from your own cup. It’s addicting, and you find yourself getting swallowed up by the kiss, just as he swallowed up your muffled sigh of pleasure.

You feel his palms on your belly, parting the cloth of your outfit like it was nothing, and maybe it really was. The outfit left little to the imagination, exotic and open to the cool ocean breeze and made of light flowing material much like what the dancers wore but nothing nearly as revealing nor flimsy. You can trace his palms as they slide up your skin, not by the heat of his own skin but the way his touch lit you on fire. 

And just when your lungs started to burn from the lack of air, he broke away, drifting down your jaw and neck with a trail of kisses. Each touch of the lips was another spark on top of the already gracious amount of heat pooling low in your belly. He’s hardly started and already you’re sure you feel a gush of warmth between your legs. You squirm, as if it’s going to help when really you know that rubbing your thighs together just makes it worse. He seems so well versed in your body language that he knows to grip your knee, gently coaxing you to spread your legs when honestly you’re all too eager to do so for him. He settles against you as a firm, warm anchor to keep you grounded to the bed.

It’s nice to be able to feel him, and like this you can feel through his robes as well. Your heartbeat picks up just a fraction when you notice the beginning press against the inside of the curve of your leg. It’s a sharp thrill that makes you arch your back the best you could being pinned down by his larger frame, just so you can grind your hips up against him to feel him more.

And it’s obvious he likes that, moaning low against the skin of your neck and the vibrations make you tingle all over. He’s pleased with your effort to participate, to show your enjoyment and part of you thinks that maybe other bedmates are more passive and he’s excited to find someone more hands on. His palms find your breasts, fingers pressing into the soft skin and squeezing just enough that you like it. 

He reads you so well you should be ashamed, but perhaps it’s the wine in your system, what little of it there is, that keeps you relaxed. The rest is entirely pure desire. Who didn’t desire a night in the King’s bed? You’re just happy that you’re lucky to have him all to yourself, and not be part of a group of two or three other women.


End file.
